Whisper Your Name
by Lunarelle
Summary: Cressida has feelings for Katniss, but the two are worlds apart. She's a director in the Capitol, currently in charge of putting together the shots for the viewing for after the Games, and Katniss is a tribute in the Quarter Quell. Set during the events of Catching Fire, just before the Games begin. There will be a sequel! (Characters belong to Suzanne Collins)
1. Chapter 1

Katniss sacrificed everything. She went to the Hunger Games to save her sister from dying, but people don't see that. They think that what she did was steal the spotlight from her.

Cinna says that most people don't get it. But some do. Not all of us who live in the Capitol have a romanticized idea about the Hunger Games. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed watching them when I was a child. But one day, a friend of mine wanted us to pretend that we were in the Games.

And that's when I realized that the tributes were real people. I was watching a television show with people killing one another.

Year after year, I saw children dying for our entertainment. People still believe that it's what's right, because of what happened during the war, but I can't, not anymore.

And now… I can't believe what President Snow announced. The Quarter Quell. The tributes will be picked from the living victors in the districts. That means that Katniss is going back to the arena.

My heart shattered when I heard that. I didn't want to believe it. How? Why? Hasn't she given enough? And who will be the male tribute? Haymitch or Peeta? I don't know them well, although I've spoken to Haymitch several times, but I do know that one will volunteer for the other. Either way, I don't think I'm going to be able to watch these Hunger Games.

"You're going to have to," Cinna says to me. "You're directing the viewing afterwards, aren't you?"

I nod. I know I'm going to have to. Just like Cinna's going to be forced to watch Katniss go through hell again. Neither of us have a choice in the matter.

I go about my days leading up to the Reaping. Messalla, Castor and Pollux are on board with me and we're getting everything ready for the tribute parade. It's the last thing I want to do, but I do it with a smile.

People are watching us set up. They look excited. But how can they possibly be excited when people they've known for such a long time are going to be… executed?

Because that's what it is, an execution.

I go back to my house that evening, and find that I can't eat, so I lay out my clothes for the next day. I haven't felt like wearing bright colors lately, so I settle for something black, practical. Skintight black leggings with ankle boots and a black leather top.

As an afterthought, I pull out a gold belt. I do live in the Capitol after all, and if I'm dressed all in black, people will think that there's something wrong with me, and that I'm not enjoying myself. I can't give anybody the feeling that I'm not behind this Quarter Quell.

I get up early the next day and go to Cinna's house. It's beautiful, and is currently filled with easels on which he's propped up a number of designs for Katniss. Portia's there too, looking troubled.

The doorbell rings, and Castor and Pollux arrive with Messalla, all of them carrying what smells like a delicious breakfast.

We set the food on the table and sit down as Cinna turns on the projector so that we can see the reapings in every district.

Not a word is said as District One and Two flash by. I guess we expected them to volunteer, but it hurts to know that all but one of them will be killed, because there's no way that President Snow will make the same mistake he made last year.

District Four comes on after Three, and my throat tightens when Mags volunteers for Annie Cresta. Mags.

"She won't make it," I say. My voice is barely audible.

"No," says Cinna quietly, as onscreen, Finnick is chosen to be the male tribute.

I rub my temples as people I've seen and spoken to for years are reaped. I don't cry, but it's a close call. I don't usually cry easily, but this, this is getting to me.

District Twelve comes up. I watch as Effie, looking quite unlike herself, reaches into the glass ball and grabs the one piece of paper fluttering inside. She reads out Katniss's name in a shaking voice, and I can't help it. A tear courses down my cheek.

Pollux's hand finds mine and squeezes. He knows. I have no idea how he knows, but he knows.

Next, Effie reads out Haymitch's name. All of us give a small gasp, because what we expect happens: Peeta volunteers.

Even Caesar Flickerman, who's commentating as always, sounds shaken by the time the program ends. He relates the tragedy to all of Panem: we won't get to see Katniss and Peeta married.

But for me, the entire tragedy is that the beautiful young woman who is Katniss Everdeen is probably going to be killed this time around. The Capitol won't let her survive.

I leave Cinna's house without bothering to say anything to anybody. I wander through the streets aimlessly as people around me cheer and celebrate. I want to go somewhere hidden and lie down. I can't face it.

But I do.

An hour later, Cinna finds me and brings me back to his place, applying enough makeup on me so that I don't look like my world has ended. It's an honor to have Cinna doing my makeup, but it takes me a few minutes to gather my wits about me so that I can make my way to the train station.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. I work best under stress, so I'm able to get excellent footage of the arriving tributes, who pose for my camera and wave cheerfully at me, although not many of them are happy to be here for this occasion. Finnick and Mags come and hug me as soon as they see me. I hug Finnick back and kiss Mags on the cheek. I don't know if I'll be able to talk to her again after this, so I quickly say "I'm sorry," to her.

She smiles at me before following Finnick to the waiting car. Thousands of people are screaming themselves hoarse, and our cameras catch several girls fainting in ecstasy when Finnick glances their way.

"This is good stuff," says Castor. He grins at me.

I agree. My favorite part of the Hunger Games is seeing the tributes arrive, when they're trying to grab sponsors, and so are acting happy and cheery.

Districts Eleven and Twelve won't be arriving until the next morning, so we all go home after we film Cecelia and Woof from District Eight.

As soon as I'm on my own, I collapse into bed and grab my pillow, holding it close. I whisper her name into it, as tears overwhelm me again. I might as well let it all out now, so that I can be calm when I see her in the morning.

Katniss.


	2. Chapter 2

I wake up screaming in the night, an image of the Hunger Games burned into my mind. Katniss at the Cornucopia during the feast. Clove nearly killing her.

Glancing at the clock, I see that it's only four-thirty in the morning. I groan and force myself to get up. A shower will do me a world of good.

Chaff and Seeder won't be arriving until seven, so I can take my time under the hot spray of water, using my favorite lavender soap. By the time I'm done drying myself off, I'm feeling better. Most of my nightmare has receded, leaving me feeling a little antsy, but otherwise okay.

I get dressed, putting on pants that are the exact same gold shade as the mockingjay pin on my black tank top. It's risky, what with the revolution in the districts, but I'm fairly certain that nobody will be looking at me.

I meet the others at the station. Pollux looks at me sympathetically, but I don't have time to wonder about anything, because District Eleven's train is just coming in. The cameras start to roll and I capture a perfect moment with Seeder and Chaff, the two of them hugging each other and laughing. In any other world, it would seem like the reunion of old friends.

"Hey! Are you directing the Games shows this year?" someone asks me.

I jump as a hand touches my shoulder. "For the viewing, yes," I answer. I direct my camera towards the brightly colored girl, "Do you have a favorite district for the Quarter Quell?"

"Oh, yes! District Four!" she screams.

I smile as various other girls proclaim their love for Finnick, but there are a couple of others who have a definite crush on Gloss. I joke to Messalla that we could have a pre-Hunger Games poll about who the handsomest male tribute is in the Quarter Quell, an idea that I know the producers would love.

"That would definitely get people more riled up than they already are," he tells me.

It's an idea, and I quickly call my producer, who speaks in favor of it, also opting to make a show about the female tributes. I agree. We have most of the footage already anyway, so it shouldn't be much of a problem. And it will give me something to focus on besides wondering whether she's going to make it out of the arena alive.

We settle down to wait for the last tribute train, taking various shots of the crowd and having breakfast.

Finally, the train pulls into the station at exactly eight o'clock, to cheers that drown out every other noise in the area. I immediately focus my camera on Katniss, and then wish I hadn't, because it makes me sad to see her here again as a tribute.

She glances over at me and she walks over, her eyes fixed on the strap of the top I'm wearing. My mockingjay pin is there, and she briefly reaches for it, touching it with the tips of her fingers. I go absolutely still, locking my eyes with hers, wishing I could say something to her.

She ignores the people calling out her name, instead looking at me directly. A chill goes down my spine. I hold the camera in one hand while my other skims her knuckles gently.

I want to tell her good luck, but how can I? How do you say that to someone who's going to go in the arena to die? Instead, I look to Peeta and try to smile. He smiles back, but I notice that it's as forced as mine is.

"Give them hell, you two," I finally say.

Katniss removes her hand from my pin and nods once. The next thing I know, she's disappeared into a waiting car, and all I can do is turn to my crew, instructing them to turn off the cameras and follow me to the studio.

"You want to use footage from each of their Hunger Games?" asks Castor.

"No. The footage that was caught during their parades would be better," I tell them, slamming the car door and starting the engine.

The studio isn't far from the train station, and has the advantage of being in the opposite direction of the Remake Center, so we don't catch a lot of traffic. We're there quickly, and when the doors close behind us, we immediately get to work, beginning to edit everything we've shot so far and mixing it with other footage to create what we've dubbed the Quarter Quell Poll Films.

But they're not done yet.

We don't go home to have lunch or to change, doing everything at the studio. My makeup artists get me ready to go to the Tribute Parade, forcing me to wear a pink and black shimmery outfit that will go with what they've done to my eyes. The outfit has a gentle touch of green at the collar to go with the vines I have tattooed on the hairless side of my head.

The effect, when I look the mirror, scares me, because I can't recognize myself. But I thank the artists, giving them each a hug as we bustle out of the studio. At least I'm wearing flat boots instead of spike heels, which I wouldn't be able to run in. Despite the fact that they're a vivid shade of pink, I don't complain much.

We arrive at the Avenue of the Tributes before anybody's allowed inside, so that we can finish setting up. It is striking to see when it's empty. But when starts filling up in about an hour, it will be quite a spectacle of color. And when the tributes arrive, it will be pandemonium.

People begin to arrive just as the sky turns an amazing array of pinks and purples, signifying the start of the Hunger Games festivities for the Capitol. We're supposed to sit with the journalists who cover the event for the various newspapers and magazines, but we get out of there as quickly as we can, finding the best vantage point for the cameras.

The sun is still setting when the first chariots come out to the anthem of Panem. I try to focus on each pair of tribute in turn, but have to laugh when Finnick and Mags come out. The cheers around me are so deafening that I'm sure more than one girl will need to see a doctor in the morning to take care of her sore throat. Finnick is wearing a net around his waist, and nothing else. Even I have to admit that he's a handsome creature, and for a second, I watch him passing by before finally focusing my attention to the rest of the districts.

The cheering around me reaches its peak, and I don't have to look around to know that District Twelve has come in. They're easy to see, even with the fact that other stylists have decided to use fire for the tribute costumes.

Katniss and Peeta look breathtaking. I can't breathe when they pass by. Embers, that's what their costumes are. They glow with ethereal light, and since they're furious about being back here for this, it turns them into two terrifying teenagers. They don't smile. They don't wave. They look ahead with all their might, as though glaring at the world will end this Quarter Quell. I wish it could.

When I finally return home, it's well past midnight. We've edited our last footage, and the program we came up with will air tomorrow afternoon. I'm exhausted, but before I can even think about stripping off my clothes, I pull something out of my bag. It's a large print of Katniss as she and Peeta came out this evening. My heart pounds as I take in every detail before my eyes.

 _She loves Peeta. You know she does. You will never be anything to her but a Capitol freak with a vine tattoo on your head. Not to mention that you're female._

But at least she understood that I'm on her side. Or at least I think she does. If I could, I'd gather everything I had to sponsor her and Peeta in the arena. But because I'm covering the Hunger Games, I'm not allowed to sponsor anybody. I do know a few people who would sponsor them, though, and I resolve to speak to them in the morning.

Before I go to bed, I put the large photo of Katniss in a frame and place that on the wall next to my bed so that I can look at it as I'm falling asleep.

The doorbell wakes me up before I'm even ready for it. Fumbling to look at my alarm clock, I see that it's barely seven in the morning, and I've only slept about five hours.

"Hold your horses, I'm coming," I say while pulling on a silken dressing gown and padding to the front door in my bare feet.

It's Cinna, and he's got breakfast and coffee. He gives me a bright hello and comes inside before I've even opened my mouth to ask him what he's doing here so early.

"I refuse to let you wallow in here by yourself," he says.

"I'm not wallowing." I sit at my kitchen table, trying not to glare. "You know I haven't been sleeping."

"Ever since the Quarter Quell was announced, I know. But being on your own isn't going to change the outcome of these Hunger Games. Working with me might."

I look at him for a long while, not saying anything. I know what he's telling me. Be a part of the rebellion. I want to. Ever since President Snow announced who the tributes were going to be for the Quarter Quell, I've been wanting to end it all. But I can't do it here without getting a lot of people in trouble.

"What do you need?"

"Your sponsor contacts."

Wordlessly, I get up, going towards my bookcase and pulling out a binder. I bring it back to him, "I know four people that I could persuade to sponsor Katniss and Peeta."

"What about Finnick Odair? He and Mags will partner with them."

"Finnick's easier to sponsor. Are you sure Katniss will be okay with this?"

"She won't be, but Haymitch will talk some sense into her. I hope she makes friends with him today."

I want to shout at him that it doesn't matter if they become friends, that only one of them will come out of there alive.

"You have a plan to get them out."

"Cressida. I need to know whether you're with us. Are you willing to risk everything to save her life?"

I open my robe, exposing my left thigh. I'm only wearing underwear, but that doesn't seem to bother him. What _does_ provoke a reaction is the tattoo I recently got of Katniss's mockingjay symbol, done in black and silver. The look on my face seems to convey the rest of my feelings, because he nods. "Will your team join us too?"

"Pollux is an Avox," I tell him. "I'm fairly certain he and Castor will join us. And so will Messalla."

"Good. Because we're going to need all of you."

I'm not sure what to think. Just like that, I'm planning on actively joining the rebellion against the Capitol. The prospect is terrifying, but I'm spurred into action. Ten minutes later, I've taken my shower and gotten dressed. Cinna looks at me approvingly when I reappear in front of him, my hair still wet but braided on the side of my head.

I'm not wearing makeup yet, but I fix that quickly, putting on bright silver eyeliner and black eyeshadow to go with the funky black and silver shirt I have on. "Okay?" I ask.

"Yes." He gets to his feet.

"Let me make a copy of these for you." I pick up the binder and go to the copy machine I have, quickly grabbing the names I need. The machine works fast, and in no time, I'm able to hand Cinna several sheets of paper with the names he requested. "Oh, you might want to go talk to Cassia," I say, pointing to the second name. "She's always looking for the latest makeup trends."

"You're a gem, Cressida," he tells me, kissing my cheek. He grows serious, "Listen, we're going to do everything we can to get them out of there safely. I'm sure that some of them will die, but Katniss is our top priority."

"And Peeta will be hers," I say.

"Yes, that's what Haymitch said. We're working on it." He begins to walk towards the door, but I stop him.

"Cinna… Katniss and Peeta don't know what's going on, do they?"

"No. They don't. The less they know, the better."

"How in the world do you want them to know what to do if you don't tell them what you have planned?"

"Too many people are watching them. If we tell them, we could blow the whole thing." He opens the door then turns to me, "You should put a bag together in case you have to leave unexpectedly. In case that happens, go to Thirteen."

 _Thirteen? District Thirteen?_ But I nod.

Once Cinna leaves, I prepare a bag, putting my favorite black pants in there along with my favorite shirts and video cameras. I own around twenty handheld cameras, some bigger, some smaller, and most of them make their way to my bag. Another one goes into my pocket so that I can film the Capitol as I make my way to Messalla's house.

There isn't as much activity today as there was yesterday, but that's to be expected. Today is a resting day for most Capitol citizens, who will spend their time watching reruns from the reapings across the districts and last night's parade. Still, I do see several people dressed up in district costumes, probably for parties.

"What are you doing here?" Messalla asks me when he opens the door to his apartment.

"It's nice to see you too," I flash a grin at him and walk inside. My grin fades as soon as he closes the door. Castor and Pollux are there, which I had expected, and I nod to them. "You're not planning a rebellion without me, are you?"

Pollux pales a little, and frantically begins to sign to me.

"Cinna came to see me. You guys should have told me you were planning something."

"Honestly, I can't stay here anymore," says Castor. He looks at his brother, "I hate having to be fake all the time."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"We don't want you to get into trouble. You're the hottest upcoming director in the Capitol."

"And that makes a difference why? Because they might look for me? You think I _want_ this Quarter Quell to go on? You think I want to see…" my voice trails off and I sit down. "I'm with you. Now, tell me what's going on."

We talk for an hour while I look at whatever equipment my companions have put together. Obviously, they're planning to get away from the Capitol as quickly as possible. Before the Games begin.

"We can't leave before the Games…" Quickly, I tell them what I speculate. "If they're going to get them out of the arena, they're going to need people to help them. We need to find a way to keep the tributes alive as long as possible."

"My mother will sponsor District Twelve," says Messalla. "She adored last year's love story."

"Good. Then we'll go through her for our own sponsorships," I reply.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't easy, but in the end, we managed to come up with a plan. We would try leaving as soon as the Games ended, one way or another. We went to talk to Messalla's mother, a woman who'd had a lot of work done to herself in order to look younger than she really was, and manage to get her to agree to sponsor Katniss and Peeta. We make it seem like Messalla and I have a bet against Castor and Pollux as to who will win the Games, and she laughs. I give her a fair bit of money, and she promises to use it as we agreed.

"At least we've been able to do that," I whisper as we leave.

"She'll do what she promised," says Messalla to me. "You don't have to worry about that."

"Come on, you know as well as I do that they're going to make Katniss a target. I'll be surprised if she doesn't have the highest score in the individual training sessions.

As it turns out, I'm absolutely right about that. Two days later, the scores come out, and all of us are shocked when both Katniss and Peeta get the score of twelve, which is two points higher than the Career tributes. And a record.

"We were expecting that," Cinna tells me the next day, as I arrive to film them getting everything ready for the interviews.

"They're bound to go after her," I tell him in a quiet voice.

"Half of them want to be partnered with her. We're going to use that to our advantage." I leave the room just as Katniss arrives. She spots me and my heart skips a beat in my chest, but I simply nod to her, meaning to get away quickly before I betray my feelings.

I'm an adult, she's still a girl. A seventeen-year-old girl now, but a girl nevertheless. I can't.

"Wait," she says to me, reaching out to take my hand.

I'm as close to panic as I'm apt to get. I force myself to keep my expression neutral, "Yes, Katniss?"

"Why are you filming us?"

"It's for the viewing after the Games," I tell her. "Last year, they placed cameras in strategic points and operated them remotely, but I'm more of a hands-on kind of person. I want to capture the real feel of the Hunger Games."

Her eyes narrow, "And what's the real feel?"

I lean close to her so as to whisper in her ear. The smell of her overwhelms me. I whistle the four-note tune as softly as I can and she immediately tenses. However, only Cinna and Messalla are in the room right now, and both of them are looking elsewhere. "You're not alone, Katniss."

Cinna clears his throat and I jump away. Katniss, who has been squeezing my fingers, lets me go and moves towards him just the chatter of the prep team reaches us.

"We'd better go," I say. If the prep team catches sight of us, we may never be able to leave. I plaster a big smile on my face and wrap my arm playfully around Messalla's neck. Laughing, we make our way towards another part of the Remake Center, joining up with Castor and Pollux, who have been with Peeta and Finnick.

The mood as we sit down to see the interviews is electric. Most people are beyond excited, but I catch several people who look as tense as I feel. To pass the time, I joke with my companions before getting to my feet in the precarious heels I've been forced to wear tonight. I feel like an insect in this forest-green outfit with gold and orange accents, but my producer insisted, and I'm not one to argue with him this close to the Hunger Games.

The tributes take the stage, and I see immediately that, despite the cheering crowd, they're angry, and not afraid to show it.

"They're going to fight back," I whisper to Messalla.

He nods grimly, then smiles and gives me a hug. I stifle laughter and pretend to playfully push him. We trail our cameras towards Gloss and Cashmere, who are being interviewed together. As brother and sister who won consecutive Hunger Games, they're favorites in the Capitol, and people don't take kindly to the fact that she appears upset to be there. Some of them murmur in sympathy. Others just look stunned.

Whether she's crying for real or for show, the effect is good. Caesar himself doesn't know what to say for a second as he absorbs the fact that these are tributes who have already been through the Hunger Games.

Brutus and Enobaria, in true District Two fashion, appear vicious and overly confident. They're somewhat successful in restoring the crowd to its normal Hunger Games fervor, but not quite.

When Finnick takes the stage and talks to his love, looking directly at my camera, girls shriek for him. Mags, being unable to talk, sits there and smiles, nodding at whatever Caesar is saying. I can't help but feel horribly sorry about the way her life will end, unless we manage to get her out of the arena.

The interviews get rowdier and rowdier. Johanna Mason, from District Seven, is absolutely furious, and she shows it. She refuses to cooperate with Caesar, cursing and screaming at the crowd. I turn my camera to the audience to see their reaction, and again, I see mixed emotions there. A lot of them appear amused at her defiance. But there are several other faces who look sad. Others look angry.

Nobody calms down, although Chaff and Seeder try to appear jovial when Caesar interviews them. I'm not fooled and at this point, I don't think anybody else is.

It's Katniss's turn. She's wearing the dress that she would have worn for her wedding to Peeta. It's a gorgeous thing with abstract metallic wings attached to the back. I feel a lump in my throat as I see her in the dress, and I'm not alone. Caesar has to compose himself before he can even begin to speak. But what is there to say? Katniss mentioned that she's sorry that nobody will get to attend the wedding, and that President Snow wanted the people in the Capitol to see her in her dress anyway.

And just before her interview's over, she gets to her feet and begins to twirl. People scream, and it's all I can do to keep myself from leaping over to her and extinguishing the flames that engulf her dress.

Bits of material begin to burn away, floating down around her, until her dress is entirely changed. Katniss stops twirling and extends her arms, which now seem to have black and white wings attacked to them.

"Focus on that," I hiss to Castor, although my heart is pounding hard.

Cinna has modified her wedding dress to look like a mockingjay.


	4. Chapter 4

I look at him, suddenly scared as I realize that Cinna doesn't mean to see the end of these Hunger Games. As I turn back towards Katniss, I see a flicker of fear in her eyes, but she keeps it in.

 _Brave girl_ , I think.

She goes back to her seat. The crowd is now nearly silent, trying to figure out what this means. Is Katniss a rebel or was this another charming dress that doesn't mean anything?

Caesar quickly calls Peeta to the stage, and begins to talk about the wedding again, which is when he mentions that he and Katniss already got married.

"It wasn't official," he says. "But back home, we have a toasting ceremony with bread. We did that."

The crowd begins to roar in approval, and Caesar grins, "That's great, congratulations!" he exclaims, looking at back at Katniss. "At least you two were able to have a little bit of happiness."

"Yeah," says Peeta. He appears to hesitate. "We would be happy… if it weren't for the baby."

For a moment, everything stops. My head spins. _Baby?!_

Katniss is pregnant.

The crowd's uproar is instantaneous.

I barely know what I'm doing as I direct Castor and Pollux to keep their cameras on the crowd, while I focus on Katniss. Her head is down and her eyes are closed. She looks on the verge of tears.

I widen my camera shot to take in all of the tributes when Peeta joins them. And suddenly, they're all holding hands in an unprecedented show of unity. The screens register what we've caught on film, a moment before everything goes dark, and I know that the Peacekeepers are going to clear the place out, so I turn off my equipment before grabbing the others and getting out of there quickly.

Katniss is pregnant.

Can it possibly be true? I don't want to believe it. I can't. The screams I'm hearing call for an end to the Games – the first time I've ever heard anything like that in the Capitol. I want to scream too, join the riots in the districts.

"Come _on_!" I hiss, as we make our way quickly towards my car.

I'm far too shaken to drive, so I hand my keys to Messalla. In the streets, citizens are still screaming, clustered around the large screens. We pass groups of Peacekeepers and drive faster.

"Take us to Cinna's place, not mine," I say. My voice is hoarse.

"Do you really think she's pregnant?" asks Castor.

"You mean do I think that this was a stunt to try and stop the Games?" I have to admit that I like the idea better than the alternative. "I have no idea."

"They won't cancel the Quarter Quell," says Messalla. "Not this late in the game."

I don't think so either. Part of me wants to make an immediate statement, live on the air, and tell the Capitol that they can't do this. They can't force a girl who's pregnant to go in the arena. And while I'm willing to be tortured for what I believe in, it wouldn't accomplish anything.

Cinna pulls up into his driveway a few minutes after us. He looks composed as he walks to where we're standing.

"Cinna…"

He squeezes my shoulder and lets us inside.

"They're going to kill you," says Messalla.

Cinna gives a nod. "I know. And that's why I want you to have these." He takes something from the table in his living room. It's a sketchbook with dozens of designs, which he hands to me. "If we succeed in getting Katniss out of the arena and to District Thirteen, I want you to show her this. But only when she agrees to be the mockingjay."

My eyes are wet again, "Cinna, you can leave as soon as Katniss –."

"I don't think the Capitol's going to allow me to leave." He smiles at me and puts a hand on my face, "It's okay. I've done what I needed to do." He takes other sketchbooks and asses them out, "Here. You take these as well. I hope someone will be able to use them. Later on."

"You don't have to say goodbye, man," says Castor.

"I want to. You guys are my friends."

I put the sketchpad down carefully and wrap my arms around Cinna's neck. He hugs me back tightly, kissing my cheek.

"They're probably going to come for me right after the Games start tomorrow. When that happens, go to Haymitch. Oh, and you should know. He's with us too." He releases me and quickly writes a name on a piece of paper.

Plutarch Heavensbee.

Plutarch is a rebel?

Pollux is signing frantically to Castor, and I glance at him briefly before looking back to Cinna, "The Head Gamemaker is a rebel?"

"He has operatives all over the Capitol. Now, he has to act as a Gamemaker for a while, until it's time to move. I've told him and Haymitch that you're on board. Beetee and Wiress know too. So do Johanna and Blight. And Finnick and Mags, of course."

"Of course," I echo.

I can't think for a moment. Too much is going on inside my head. We're getting ready to leave, because there doesn't seem to be anything else to say. We should eat something, but none of us are particularly hungry, even though Messalla offers to make us some dinner.

Cinna shakes his head, "It's okay, you guys can go."

"We should interview you first," I say. "In case we get stopped by Peacekeepers or something."

"Interview him about what?" Castor looks at me, a little puzzled.

"About the dress. If it weren't about what the mockingjay represents, everyone would be going crazy over the dress. We would have interviewed him after the segment."

Cinna nods and sits down while I use my small camera to record his answers. We dim the light to give everything a friendly feel. He's eloquent, charming, funny, everything that he's always been. I can't imagine what will happen tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

Here it is. The first day of the third Quarter Quell. The 75th Hunger Games. My insides churn as I get dressed, wearing something that Cinna made for me and gave me as we were leaving his house.

Black denim pants and a geometrical white short-sleeved, to be worn with an olive green leather jacket and matching knee-high flat boots. The material is comfortable enough so that I don't feel the effects of the weather.

I apply makeup of the same shade before leaving the house.

I made plans to meet Messalla and the others at the mall that's closest to the Tribute Center. They've set up a huge viewing area so that people can watch the Games together. I would much rather watch them on my own, but Messalla didn't even allow me to make an objection, so I agreed.

I get there at eight o'clock and look up at the Tribute Center before going inside. A hovercraft is already there.

 _Oh, Katniss… if I could come in the arena with you to keep you safe, I would. We all would._

The mall is just opening. Normally, it wouldn't open until ten o'clock, but as this is the first day of the Hunger Games, it's opening early, and will remain open 24/7 until the victor is announced. The shops inside make most of their money around this time.

I step inside and immediately spot Pollux standing at a coffee shop. He sees me and smiles. He's dressed in black slacks and an electric blue shirt with a wide pointed collar, which suits him. He squeezes my hand as I order coffee, signing to me that everything will be okay.

"I know," I tell him.

We're alone for about twenty minutes, and watch as more and more people enter the mall. Families with children, teenagers with their friends, and some Peacekeepers who have been deployed for additional security.

Messalla and Castor get to the mall a little before eight-thirty. They're dressed almost identically, which, judging by the comical looks on their faces, was a coincidence.

They order their coffee, and we make our way to where we want to be to watch the first moments of the Games.

The mall has set up two dozen projection screens all over the place so that people can watch them wherever they are, not to mention that every shop has a screen available for shoppers. But we head to the central lobby of the mall, which has two wavy walls where Capitol announcements and advertisements are usually aired.

Around thirty tall round tables have been set up in the area, so that parties of four or five people can stand there, sharing a drink or a small meal while watching. Closer to the screen, three steps below the standing area, is a seated section with plush couches and armchairs. This is the section that's filling up quickly.

The four of us pick a table and put our bags down just as someone comes around, distributing tall stools for us to sit on. Perfect.

 _Whatever happens, do not scream Katniss's name._

The warning is a mantra in my mind.

Castor brings us some food, but I can't eat. People around us are having a great time, but I haven't been able to get into those festivities for several years now, even though I try.

Time seems to fly by. Not for the first time do I find myself wondering what it's like for the tributes, those of them who know they're going to die. The ones who have a feeling that they might at least survive a day. And the ones who are so confident that they don't sweat the upcoming Bloodbath.

Caesar Flickerman comes onscreen with Claudius Templesmith. They reintroduce the tributes to us before cutting to the very first shot of the arena. We all draw our collective breaths.

The Cornucopia sits on a small island, from which a dozen rocky spokes jut out. Between each of the spokes, we see two platforms standing in what appears to be several feet of dark green water. A beach circles the lake, and circling the beach is a huge untamed jungle.

I sip my third coffee, barely tasting it, while onscreen, we see the tributes slowly being raised into the arena. I look for Katniss right away, but unless I'm looking wrong, I can't see her.

"Where's Katniss?" I whisper.

"There she is," said Messalla, nodding towards the screen. The camera focuses on Katniss for a mere instant, but the look on her pale face and the tears on her cheeks tell me everything I need to know.

A hole opens up inside of me.

"Cinna's gone."

My throat tightens up and Messalla takes my hand in his. I'm shaking, but I have to stifle it. We have to find Haymitch.

But just as that thought crosses my mind, I see him. He's standing to the side, his eyes glued to the screen. His clothes are impeccable, but his face is drawn. Slowly, he turns his head, his eyes locking with mine.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the 75th annual Hunger Games begin."


End file.
